


Breaking and Entering

by badgerdactyl



Category: Puyo Puyo
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 08:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15166190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerdactyl/pseuds/badgerdactyl
Summary: Ringo wakes up to a crash in her house and, naturally, decides to investigate.





	Breaking and Entering

There’s a crash. A loud crash that echoes throughout the house. Ringo’s eyes pop open, her heart pounding in her chest. For just a moment, she entertains the thought that the sound was just the memory of a dream that, like the rest of it, would be quickly forgotten. Logic meeting with caution, anxiety mixing with meticulousness, she sits up and draws the curtain from the window. She peers out to the early morning sky - not a cloud in the sky.  _ Well, that rules out a storm… _

She catches the reprise of the initial sound - the clatter of ceramics and glass over the low tone of… someone. Someone is groaning. Someone is groaning inside her house. Someone is  _ inside _ her house. And, if early morning experiences are to be trusted, there  _ really _ shouldn’t be.

She casts off her blanket and swings her legs off the side of the bed before walking over and opening the bedroom door - carefully, silently - and making her way into the hall, her mind trying and failing to convince her body to stop. She tiptoes against the wall as her mind runs wilds with excuses -  _ maybe you just imagined it, maybe they left for work late, maybe they forgot something and came back, maybe it’s nothing, maybe you’re  _ actually _ in danger, here_. She shakes her head and the thoughts away as she, despite her better judgement, makes her way through the house.

It’s not until she reaches the archway leading to the kitchen that the alarm bells ringing in her head finally cut through the heavy fog of sleep and she remembers just  _ why _ she’s awake right now.  _ Why didn’t you grab something to use as a weapon? _ she chastises.  _ You’re dealing with a home invader! _ She considers her options - a knife would work well, though it’d be a little messy, but the knives are in the kitchen and that’s more than likely where the trespasser is. She covers her mouth to stifle a laugh at the thought of going back to her room for her textbook. Or rather, she can’t help but smile at the thought of some neerdowell suddenly learning that magic is  _ incredibly _ real as they find themselves being electrocuted by a mathematical middle-schooler in pajamas and pigtails.

_ A peek _ , she thinks as she focuses on steadying her breathing.  _ A quick peek. I’ll survey the situation and, if there’s trouble, I’ll go back to my room, call the authorities, and grab my textbook. But, first, a peek. _ She exhales a shaky breath and steels herself against the wall. She leans over slightly - ever so slightly - and slowly cranes her head around the archway.

She blinks. And blinks again. And blinks a third time as she looks across the room and recognizes a familiar face sitting up in a mess of broken bits of wood, ceramics, and glass in front of a countertop covered with a matching set of materials.

“Maguro?” 

The possible trespasser - the definite homewrecker - looks over to the doorway and drops himself backwards with a sigh, quickly springing back up as his head lands on the handle of a wayward mug. “Ringo,” he says, rubbing the back of his head, hesitant to make any other movement while covered in debris, “there’s a  _ perfectly  _ logical explanation as to why your kitchen looks like this at, like, 7 in the morning. ★”

A wash of relief floods over her and she lets out a sigh at the sound of his voice. A fury quickly swells in her veins to replace it, however, as she takes another look at the utter destruction in front of her. She steps into the kitchen and narrows her eyes as she scans the mess - the collapsed cabinet shelf, the broken chair beneath him, the scattered and shattered array of cups, bowls and plates all fitting together like clockwork as she tries to piece together what happened. She folds her arms and, despite the absolutely disastrous state of the room, doesn’t even bother trying to hide the bemused smile creeping onto her face. “I’d love to hear it, then.”

He drops his hand to his side, mindful of the glass. “You’re not mad? ★”

“Oh, absolutely,” she says cooly, walking to the dining table and sitting down. She pushes aside the variety of ingredients sitting out and props her head up with her elbows. “But, go ahead,” she says, grinning as she looms over him. “Tell me what happened.”

“This would be less terrifying if you were just yelling… ★” He sighs as he brings his hands to his face. “Well,” he starts, scrunching his hair between his fingers, “you remember our last class trip? How you were really bummed that we couldn’t visit that creperie before we left? ★”

She raises an eyebrow and tilts her head. “That was, what, a month or so ago?” She leans back in her chair and folds her arms. “I don’t  _ quite _ see how that’s related, but I’ll wait.”

“I promise, it’s totally related. ★” He lets go of his hair and quickly readjusts his bangs. “So, I found a crepe recipe online that looked easy enough to do and I figured, ‘Hey! ★ Wouldn’t it be fun to surprise Ringo with this?’”

“I mean, I’m  _ definitely _ surprised…”

“ _Listen_. So, I made them at home a few times - you know, to really make sure I knew what I was doing. ★”

“And, this time, you figured the recipe could use some broken glass?” she says with a smirk. “You know, to really spice it up?”

He throws out a fake laugh before he continues. “I got everything together on the table and realized I needed a mixing bowl. Then, I remembered that you keep the big bowls in the top cabinet and, um, well, so, I… ★” he trails off, dropping his head and mumbling.

She doesn’t think her smile can get any wider but, sure enough, it finds a way as she leans over, cupping one of her ears with her hand. “I’m sorry - I didn’t catch that last part.”

Maguro heaves a sigh and buries his face in his hands as he repeats himself, louder, but undeniably still unintelligible.

“You wanna try that again? Still can’t hear you.”

He leans forward, disturbing one of the plates on his lap, and grumbles, “I had to grab a chair to reach the top cabinet and, well… ★”

Ringo winces and sucks air in through her teeth. “You grabbed the wobbly chair, huh?” Seeing his nod, she adds, “And when it fell out from under you, you tried to grab the shelf and took that down with you, right?”

“Hey, two things - real quick,” he says, lifting his head from his hands and turning towards her. “One, why do you have a designated ‘wobbly chair’ and two, why was that the one  _ closest to the counter? _ ★”

“No-one in the house is so  _ short _ that they need to use a  _ chair _ to reach the top shelf!” She looks at his pout and can imagine the matching glare underneath his bands and breaks out into a fit of laughter.

“It’s  _ really _ not funny. ★”

“It’s not!” She clutches her side with one hand and wipes her eye with the other. “But, like, what else can I do right now? Getting mad’s not gonna help.” She lets out a sigh, trying to stifle her chuckles, and stands up. “Is anything broken?”

He holds out his arms and gestures all around him. “What do  _ you _ think? Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair, Ringo! ★”

“No, wiseguy,” she says with a laugh. She leans down towards him and offers him a hand. “I meant, did you get hurt? All of this stuff is just stuff - we can get it fixed or replaced,” she adds as she pulls him up. Her eyes widen as the dinnerware and glasses sitting on his lap fall to the floor with a clatter. “Well, probably.”

“Oh, man,” he groans, covering his face again. “You might not be mad, but your parents are gonna  _ kill _ me. ★”

Ringo shrugs and walks out into the hallway. “I bet,” she says as she returns, dustpan and broom in hand, “if we clean this up and you apologize, they might only maim you!” She gives a cheesy grin as she hands him the broom and the two set to work on cleaning the crash zone on the floor, setting anything still in-tact into the sink and being careful to avoid hurting themselves on the sharp, broken bits. After a while, Ringo does a final sweep-through of the floor as Maguro picks up the pieces of the collapsed chair and sets it on the table.

He surveys the damage to the base of the chair and sighs as he turns around to find her hunched over and holding onto the broom for support. “Are you  _ still _ laughing at me? ★” Watching her try and fail to choke out a coherent reply, he puts a hand to his forehead and smiles, despite himself, as he laments, “I’m never going to try and do anything nice for you ever again. ★”

“You-!” she starts, laughing louder now and trying to catch her breath. “You said that the last time you messed up!”

“Well, then, I mean it this time. ★”

She scrunches her face as she picks up the dustpan and dumps its contents into the trash can. “Pretty sure you said  _ that _ the time before that. But, no, I’m not laughing at you this time.”

“Oh yeah? ★” He walks over to the cluttered countertop and starts salvaging through the pile. “So, what gives? ★”

“I mean, you’re still gonna be  _ really _ mad if I tell you.”

He turns around and rests his hands behind him on the edge of the counter. “Madder than you  _ should _ be right now? ★”

“I was just thinking,” she says as she props her head on top of the broom handle, “about when I was little, that’s all.”

“Short joke,” he says, pushing himself from the counter. “Got it. ★”

“It’s not a joke, it’s a story!”

He cracks a grin and, folding his arms, slips into an elderly voice. “‘Back when I was your height…’ Something like that? ★”

“Hushy.” She narrows her eyes as he turns back to the countertop. “Anyway, ‘back when I was your height, or maybe even smaller!’” she says, slipping momentarily into the same voice. “I used to climb up on chairs and counters to reach things all the time. I never  _ broke _ anything, but my mom was still pretty grumpy about it. Do you know what she’d always tell me, though?”

“No,” he says, dropping another bowl into the sink before turning his head and watching her walk back to the hall closet. “What? ★”

She smirks just in front of the door, spinning the broom idly against the floor. “She said that, if there was anything in the house I couldn’t reach…” she pauses, opening the closet door with a flourish and making a grand gesture of displaying what was inside, “that I could just go to the closet and get the stepladder.”

**Author's Note:**

> This has a spiritual sequel over on FF.net :3 Go show it some love!  
> https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12992491/1/Phone-Heist


End file.
